Max finished her dinner at the exquisite Wright’s at the Biltmore—they’d been closed yesterday when she first arrived, so she’d made sure she set aside the time to enjoy a meal Wednesday evening before she left Thursday for San Diego.
She asked for a third glass of wine while she looked over her notes from her conversation with David earlier. He had mixed news—Chris Donovan’s father would talk to him tomorrow at Corcoran State Prison, but the Porter family had refused to meet.
David was playing nice, she suspected, so she told him to try again with the Porters after talking to Adam Donovan. She could drive up to Santa Barbara from San Diego if she had to, but she’d rather avoid the trip. She wanted to focus her energy on the first victim—Justin Stanton. In her experience, the first victim would yield the most information. The first victim was almost always personal and the most likely victim to have known the killer.
The hostess approached her. “Ms. Revere, a Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell are at the front desk. They would like to speak with you. May I bring them here or would you like them to wait in the lobby?”
“Bring them here, thank you.” She wasn’t going to cut short her pleasant working dinner because Blair Caldwell was having a fit.
She’d bet her inheritance that Blair had convinced John to ask Max to back off.
Her wine came at the same time John and Blair were escorted to her table. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” John said. He looked physically drained and didn’t make eye contact. Max felt for him, but at the same time, she wasn’t going to be manipulated by anyone’s emotions.
Blair was pale and her eyes darted about. Was she concerned about being recognized? Confronted? Max had some sympathy. If she were in fact innocent, these charges and trial would shred her. She’d be heartbroken over the death of her son, and shattered that people thought she had done it.
If she were guilty, Max hoped the prosecution could prove it—beyond a shadow of a doubt. Because John didn’t believe it and he needed to. If she were innocent, Max hoped the jury was unanimous, otherwise it would weigh heavily on Blair, on John, and on the community.
They held hands. Unified. Showing their strength.
“If you wanted to talk, I would have come to you,” Max said.
“You’ve done so much for us,” John said. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“I’m in Arizona because you asked me to come. You’re not bothering me.”
“Blair and I had a really good talk this afternoon—in fact, the best talk we’ve had since … well, it’s been a difficult nine months for both of us.”
Max enjoyed being right—most of the time. Tonight, she was angry and disappointed.
Not that anything John could say would stop her.
“We very much appreciate your help,” Blair said. Her comment surprised Max. She assessed John’s wife. Tired, drawn, thin. She wore little makeup and appeared far more fragile now than she had been when Max spoke with her at her lawyer’s office. “I want you to know that—I may have seemed aloof earlier, but this entire situation … and then on top of Petey’s death…” She took a deep breath. “I just don’t always know how to cope. Sometimes, it’s easier to keep everyone at arm’s length.”
“I called you,” John said, “because I was desperate for answers … and Max, you have always been so good at finding the truth. When we were in college, I’ll never forget when you caught that fraternity in a lie about the party where those girls were mickeyed. You didn’t let up, even when you were threatened. In fact, that seemed to drive you. You had those responsible expelled, the frat was put on probation, and everyone was stunned and relieved. No one wanted to confront the most powerful student group on campus, but you did, and you haven’t changed. I definitely want you to find the truth. After the trial. I didn’t realize the stress I’d placed on Blair by bringing you into the situation. Once the trial is over—and our attorney believes the prosecution’s case is very weak—I want you to come back. The police will be looking at new evidence, finding out who really hurt our son. And then your help will be invaluable.”
Max absorbed what John said. She was having a difficult time reconciling the smart man John was with the desperate man sitting here.
Desperation and fear. Desperation for his wife. What was going to happen at the trial. But mostly, it was the fear. Fear and loss and grief.
“John,” she said calmly. “Maricopa County has upwards of a ninety percent conviction rate. If a jury comes back with a not guilty verdict, the police aren’t going to look at other suspects.”
“They’ll have to!”
“They won’t.”
“But you can,” John said. “You can make them. I’ve read all your books, Max. I know you don’t give up, that you’ll convince the police to listen to you.”
“You must not have read my work carefully. But that’s beside the point. You can’t expect the police to do anything more than they’ve already done.”
“That’s ridiculous,” John said. There was a bit of anger there, a bit of fight. Max would need to tap into that before she was through.
“Honey,” Blair squeezed his hand, then turned to Max. “Whatever you can do, Maxine, we appreciate. But if you can’t—I understand. That you believe in me, in us, means everything to me.”
When had Max given Blair the impression that she believed in her? Max didn’t know if she was guilty or not. And without access to the evidence or investigation, Max wouldn’t know if Peter’s death was the same as the other three cases.
“All right,” Max said.
John and Blair both looked relieved. “Thank you for understanding,” John said. “Will you be covering the trial for NET? You said the other day you didn’t know.”
“I still don’t know,” she said. But now she wanted to. Something clicked inside, an instinct that had her more than a little curious about what really prompted this impromptu meeting, and she wanted to be here for the trial.
“Well, if you don’t, we’ll see you after the trial if you decide to come back from New York and help us,” Blair said. “We know your time is valuable, and you might not be able to help, but we understand.”
“New York?”
“Yes, I assume you’re returning soon.”
“No.”
Blair stared at her. “But you just said—just now—that you weren’t going to pursue this. All the conversation and conflict and stress—”
“Shh, dear,” John said. “That’s not what she meant. Max has other investigations she’s working on.”
“I’m going to San Diego tomorrow,” Max said.
“Why?” Blair asked. “Isn’t that”—she turned to her husband—“John.”
“Stanton,” he said. “The first little boy who died.”
Blair looked pained. “You said you weren’t going to pursue these cases!”
“No, I said that I wasn’t going to investigate Peter’s death. Not now, at any rate. But the other three cases are still just as compelling. Justin Stanton, Tommy Porter, and Chris Donovan. Donovan’s father was convicted of his murder, but the case had serious problems—I’m surprised he hasn’t appealed the conviction.” When Max first read the transcript, she immediately thought that Donovan had the worst representation she’d ever seen in a trial. He should never have been convicted, though he didn’t do much to help himself. Guilt? Grief? Max didn’t know—and she wouldn’t until David talked to him.
“Why those other cases?” John asked.
“Because they’re cold cases and that’s what I do.” She sipped her wine. “John, as I explained to you, I don’t get involved with active police investigations. But cold cases—they intrigue me. And these three? I haven’t been this caught up in an investigation in a long, long time. I’m going to solve them. And I promise, if I find anything that can help Blair, I’ll let you know.”
“This isn’t going to help!” Blair exclaimed. She glanced around, as if she were afraid someone had overheard. But the dining room was almost empty. It was past closing with only a few occupied tables finishing up dessert and coffee.
“I’m not doing this to help or hurt you, Blair. I’m doing it to give three families closure. To find justice for three little boys who had their lives taken too soon. And honestly—I won’t know if they’re connected until I dig deeper.” Though Max’s gut told her they were. “But I will dig, and I will at a minimum prove whether the boys were killed by the same person. At that point, I’ll turn the information over to law enforcement. If they pursue it, I won’t. If they don’t? Let’s put it this way—I’ve never shied away from the difficult cases.”
“Max,” John said, “I know you mean well, but I think it would be best if you just went back to New York.”
“How can my investigation into a twenty-year-old murder affect Blair’s case?” What had Blair said to John that had him doing a complete one-eighty? Something had happened between the time Max had walked through John’s house and now.
Covering trials wasn’t Max’s favorite part of her job with NET. She found courtroom procedures tedious and uninteresting. But with the trial often came interviews with victims, witnesses, and defendants, and those were far more exciting for Max, who craved to understand the people and world around her.
But now, after this change of focus with John, there was nothing she wanted to do more than cover Blair Caldwell’s trial. If she was going to write about these cases, she needed to be there—to hear the testimony, see the evidence, and know in both her heart and her head whether Blair Caldwell had killed her son.
Because right now, she thought the police had the right person. Though for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why.
This time last year, Max would have flat out told Blair she thought she was guilty just to see how she would react. But if Max had learned anything over her last few investigations, it was that sometimes being blunt didn’t help. If she revealed her thoughts, John would completely cut her out and she wanted access to him. Access to him without Blair in the room.
“I can’t stop you.” John’s eyes were damp, and Max didn’t think he was faking the emotion. “I just—please—consider how your actions may have a detrimental effect on Blair’s case.”
She reached out and touched John’s hand, partly because she knew it would irritate his wife. “I promise you, John, I will be discreet. There is nothing I care more about than finding justice for victims, whether the case is a year old or twenty years old.”
“I know, Max. I know.” He squeezed her hand.
If Blair was guilty, Max would skewer her.